


the knife edge of grief

by jonphaedrus



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, M/M, Planet Scar Syndrome | Geostigma, chapter 5 has gross body stuff, geostigma is basically a go ahead to be depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d only nearly lost Tseng once, and she still had nightmares about it. About him nearly bleeding to death, impaled to the ground.</p><p>They’d had to deal with almost losing Rufus once, too. She still had nightmares about the Shinra tower, blown to smithereens, or finding Rufus half-dead on a helicopter outside of Kalm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Years of training woke Elena with dawn, always. She lay on her futon for a while, and listened to the quiet that was Healen Lodge. It was a good thing that the five of them were used to each other, that they had dealt with Rufus for long enough, that they could stand to live in a small two-storey building and not kill each other. 

It helped that Healen was quiet. Always quiet. Except for Reno, sometimes. The rest of them mostly did their jobs and worried about their President, now somehow having pulled himself through a year of the Geostigma, when most people who had it as bad as he did died after maybe six months.

She got up slowly in the quiet of the morning, did her morning exercises, got limbered up, and then gathered up her bathroom things to go and take a shower. She climbed the interior stairs to the second floor slowly, thinking about the stuff she had to do that day, and reached the second floor in silence, and turned to trudge toward the bathroom.

Halfway down the hall, out the corner of her eye, she saw that the door to Rufus’ room was open. He hardly ever left his door open—for security reasons, and because in the last three months he had begun to sleep late hours or not at all. Then, she heard the quiet clicking sounds, and looked the other way, into the kitchen.

They were standing by the little two-burner stove, bent into each other. Tseng was stirring what smelled strongly like hot chocolate in a pot, wearing only his shirt and slacks, his coat and tie gone, the black lines of his shoulder holsters visible against the white linen of his shirt. And, leaning against him—

Rufus wasn’t even visible, except for his feet and the tiniest bit of his hair. The rest of him was wrapped thickly in what appeared to be his entire comforter, pulled off of his bed. Tseng had his other hand wrapped around Rufus’ waist, holding him close, steadying him, and they leaned together like that was the only thing keeping them standing.

She could see Rufus’ toes, curled into the rug on the floor, and she could see the slightest edge of his hair, splayed across Tseng’s shirt, almost as pale as the cloth. Tseng had shifted close enough to lean his head on top of the younger man’s, and neither of them moved.

He was humming, very quietly. Elena stayed very still as they stood tucked together, and she turned away just when Tseng turned to kiss the top of Rufus’ head and she heard him cough, the thick wet hack that had filled his lungs in recent months.

She carefully, silently, slipped down the hallway, and went back downstairs.

Turks were used to losing other Turks. They went and got shot at, their job was to be the target. She had lost count of the number of times that she or Reno had gotten shot up or beaten half to hell, or how many times Rude had accidentally broken the bones in his hand punching someone. They’d all seen torture.

She’d only nearly lost Tseng once, and she still had nightmares about it. About him nearly bleeding to death, impaled to the ground.

They’d had to deal with almost losing Rufus once, too. She still had nightmares about the Shinra tower, blown to smithereens, or finding Rufus half-dead on a helicopter outside of Kalm.

Those had been heat of the moment. Sudden, gut-wrenching, blasts that none of them could stop. Too far away for them to fix.

Watching Rufus Shinra fade away to some inexorable, unstoppable, backbreaking disease that robbed him of his life and his light and the very presence that had made them all follow him in the first place—

That was so much worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He went very still, for a moment. Elena could see the fear, pungent and bright in his eyes. Then, his body twisted, and he fell. She, Reno, and Rude were too far away, on the other side of the table, to get there in time.

At first, they hadn’t even known that something was wrong. Rufus did an admirable job of hiding it. There was such a short time between when he was recovering from being blown half to hell by Diamond Weapon and when he first started showing the Stigma that none of them even really noticed.

Tseng knew, but then again, when didn’t he know? 

It took three months before the rest of them found out. At a meeting, discussing cooperation between Shinra (the four Turks and the President that remained) and the WRO, Rufus had stood up to gesture to something on a map, when it happened.

He went very still, for a moment. Elena could see the fear, pungent and bright in his eyes. Then, his body twisted, and he fell. She, Reno, and Rude were too far away, on the other side of the table, to get there in time. 

Elena had never seen Tseng stand up so fast. He was out of his chair like a shot, and he caught Rufus just as his legs gave out, kept him from ever hitting the floor. The rest of them were standing moments later, about to crowd around as Tseng carefully lowered Rufus to the floor.

He was seizing wildly, shaking, his body jerking on the floor. Tseng rolled Rufus onto his side with gentle hands, and then said, “Give him his space.”

Elena stopped, and Rude grabbed Reno before his momentum could make him trip. It was silent for a long time, except for the sound of Rufus twisting on the ground, his laboured breathing, and Tseng rubbing slow, gentle circles on the small of his back. It felt like years that they stood there. Elena could see Rude’s knuckles white with how tight he was holding onto Reno’s shoulder, and Reno’s eyes looked wild and scared and frantic. She felt rather faint. 

Finally, when it seemed none of them could stand it any longer, Rufus stilled. 

He looked fragile, sprawled out on the floor. His hair was splayed around his head, his shoulders shaking with uneven breaths, and his fingers spasmed occasionally. Tseng kept rubbing circles on his back, gently, not to disturb him. 

There was something black, oozing out from under his hair, puddling under his face. Leaking down his left arm. It all settled very hard, very fast, in Elena’s stomach.

She sat down before her legs gave out. She swallowed, her throat tight and her eyes burning.

“He has Geostigma,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. She watched Reno’s face twist in more emotion than she’d seen him wear in a long time, and Rude closed off, shut tight. Tseng’s face was hidden by his hair, but he didn’t stop rubbing at Rufus’ back. “He has Geostigma, Tseng.” 

In the quiet, someone swallowed, tight. She thought it might have been Rude.

“I know.” Tseng said, finally.

It felt like someone had scooped out her middle, punched her ribs in. Her breathing hurt. Rufus still hadn’t woken up, the black bile that was burning him from the inside out dripping slow lines down his fingers. 

Nobody could think of anything to say. None of them could find any words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finished this (and the subsequent chapters) a while ago, after i got bitten by a bug and decided that i couldn't just let this one lie at one part. i should've posted them earlier, but, well, procrastination.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was wearing them all down. Elena felt like she had been fighting for months, years, the way she couldn’t sleep at night, kept awake by hacking coughs, how sore and broken she felt in the morning. Reno wasn’t smiling any more, not even trying to. There were deep circles under his eyes, and he kept his shirt buttoned up. Rude talked. About nothing at all, filling the silence that Reno had left hanging when he’d closed off. And Tseng—
> 
> He looked like he had used to, during everything with Sephiroth, like he was jam, spread over too much bread. Like his shoulders were heavy. Like he was, suddenly, in his forties. He made Elena feel startlingly young.

The day that Tseng came downstairs and handed her a pile of white clothes, his face a closed-off mask, she had known what it had meant. She had folded them, and put them away, and the next morning Tseng had gone out and bought all new things, in all white. Two sizes slimmer.

Even with that, they were starting to hang too-large of Rufus’ too-thin frame. 

It was wearing them all down. Elena felt like she had been fighting for months, years, the way she couldn’t sleep at night, kept awake by hacking coughs, how sore and broken she felt in the morning. Reno wasn’t smiling any more, not even trying to. There were deep circles under his eyes, and he kept his shirt buttoned up. Rude talked. About nothing at all, filling the silence that Reno had left hanging when he’d closed off. And Tseng—

He looked like he had used to, during everything with Sephiroth, like he was jam, spread over too much bread. Like his shoulders were heavy. Like he was, suddenly, in his forties. He made Elena feel startlingly young.

He left one afternoon, stepped outside the lodge to take a phone call, and whatever it was about him leaving set her and Reno off, bickering, snapping at each other. It was just so easy to lash out at each other, when they were all walking on eggshells, constantly afraid that the precarious ice that was keeping Rufus afloat might suddenly, irreversibly crack. They, at least, were still capable of taking a beating.

In the midst of their bickering, Elena didn’t notice Rufus carefully, slowly stand—like he was testing his legs, if they could do it. She didn’t see him walk down the hall at a crawling pace, leaning heavily on the wall (she should have, she should have). She didn’t see him stumble, nearly fall. Stop to lean for what were long minutes, panting, against the kitchen table.

Even when Tseng came back in, his lips pursed and folded at the edges, his expression shuttered, and the bickering ended, none of them noticed.

(They should have, they should have)

And then there was a crash, and a thud, and the sound of tinkling glass and a silence that was so thick you could cut it and Tseng’s eyes went from closed off and worried to—

Scared.

He was scared. 

Elena had almost never seen him scared.

She had seen Tseng in tremendous amounts of pain, in agony, when he was worried, when he was angry. She could think of one, maybe two, times that she had seen him scared.

He turned, impossibly fast, in the silence, and then froze. Like he had been struck back, was unable to walk, for just a moment. His throat bobbed above his tie. And then, he ran, ran down the hallway, even as she and Reno and Rude tried to find their feet to get out of their chairs.

Elena followed Tseng, her heart beating loud in her throat and ears. She felt so cold. (She should have been paying attention, she should have).

When she stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, it was to feel something unnamable in the pit of her torso drop very quickly, like she was parachuting out of a copter.

Rufus was sprawled on the floor, his limbs all haphazard, like a puppet with broken strings. Tseng was crouched over him, his dark hair hiding his face.

He reached for Rufus, and Elena saw that his hands were shaking. He was afraid. He touched Rufus hesitantly, like he didn’t want to know what he might find. Behind her, Elena could feel Reno’s lanky build, and Rude, the solid wall protecting her back.

“Tseng,” Rufus’ voice was very quiet, hardly a whisper. There was blood on his hand, from where he had cut it on the shattered glass he had dropped when he fell. His fingers twitched, slightly. “Tseng—“ the second time, it was hesitant. Scared. Shaking, just like Tseng’s hands, even when he had touched Rufus. If what he was doing could be called touching Rufus, his hand barely grazing the white cloth of his jacket. Elena realised, belatedly, that she was shaking too.

“Tseng, I can’t feel my legs.”

Tseng’s hand fell the rest of the way onto Rufus’ arm. She heard a quiet wheeze, and thought for a moment that she was crying.

And then she realised; it wasn’t her.

It was Tseng.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufus looked so small. He had always seemed so big, when he had been just plain President Shinra, in his miles and miles of white suitcloth, with his shotgun in hand. He had always been inches taller than her, but now, curled and broken in Tseng’s arms, he looked like hardly more than a child. He was a year older than her, but it didn’t seem like it. He seemed, lately, like a man greatly aged, or like an infant.

At night, they ran errands. They were divided pretty evenly three ways, since Rufus couldn’t be left alone. Not any more. Tseng stayed with him, nearly all the time now.

Tonight, Elena came back from running to Edge with Reno to recon with Reeve, trading what they had, what they knew. It was silent at Healen when they drove up on Reno’s old motorcycle, back from before the Plate got dropped, a loud puttering thing, and she slid off the back as he knocked down the kickstand, scrubbed a hand through his hair.

They climbed up the steps to their little lodge silently, Reno tapping his mag stick against his leg, while Elena tried not to think about talking to Reeve, the way his eyes had been quiet and haunted. He hadn’t said it, but she knew the look.

He was watching someone of his own with the Stigma. Just like they were. All of them, living on borrowed time, wondering when one morning the people that they loved would start coughing and just not stop, vomiting thick black water, collapse to the floor, and not move again. It was only a matter of time. 

She knew one morning she was going to wake up to Tseng’s eyes sunken and haunted, and they would have to bury Rufus out behind the lodge with shovels, without any service, just the four of them. And then what would they do? Where would they go from there? 

Reno unlocked the door quietly, trying not to wake up Rude sleeping on the futon next to the front door, but he stirred slightly, raised his gun, paused, saw them, and lowered it again. He went back to sleep almost immediately as they closed and locked the door behind them.

It was quiet. It was always quiet, now.

Silently walking across the main room to the hallway to the kitchen, Elena was about to whisper back to Reno if he wanted a beer when she looked up and her eye caught on Rufus’ open door. 

It was cracked less than a foot, but she could see straight in from the angle she was at. The shades on the window were open, sending in moonlight, washing out everything within.

They were in silhouette, but it was impossible to not know what she was looking at. Tseng was hunched over, his dark hair struck silver by the moonlight, and he was holding Rufus tight in his arms, his white pyjamas stained grey in the shadows.

Tseng was crying. Elena couldn’t see his face, but she knew from the way his shoulders were shaking in short, sharp bursts, the way his fingers curled into Rufus’ hair were trembling. For a moment she had a sudden horrid, sharp pang of terror that maybe they were too late, maybe Rufus was already—

But then his fingers, pressed against Tseng’s white shirt, twitched. They were almost as pale as the cloth. Rufus shifted slightly, and Tseng curled closer in around him, silently sobbing.

Rufus looked so small. He had always seemed so big, when he had been just plain President Shinra, in his miles and miles of white suitcloth, with his shotgun in hand. He had always been inches taller than her, but now, curled and broken in Tseng’s arms, he looked like hardly more than a child. He was a year older than her, but it didn’t seem like it. He seemed, lately, like a man greatly aged, or like an infant.

Before Reno could come tromping down the hallway, Elena turned back and stepped more into the main room, shook her head, pressed her finger to her lips for silence.

They all had so little time left.

They had to make the best of it, before it was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena saw his eyes, for the first time in months. His left eye was stained completely black, surrounded by a mark that looked like someone had punched him hard there. It was dripping slowly, a line of bile sliding down his cheek, like some awful caricature of tears. His right eye was still the same bright, bright blue as it had always been, but now there was more of the greying stain of the Stigma, travelling up his neck toward his face.

The first rule that Elena had picked up on field missions was simple: sleep light, sleep little. Even stationary, two years later, she still slept with one eye open and a hand on her gun.

When she heard footsteps down the stairs one night, she was awake before they ever reached the landing, her hand on her pistol, and sat up and had it ready to swing when she saw who it was. 

The hall light upstairs was on, and Tseng was standing halfway down the stairs. He looked exhausted. His dark hair was mussed, like he’d been asleep, and there were dark circles pressed in bruises under his eyes. His skin was sallow, and his gaze wasn’t entirely focused. He was only wearing an undershirt and boxers. 

Part of Elena, the part she tried to pretend didn’t exist, was jubilant to see him in so little. The rest of her, the part that knew what him standing here in the middle of the night meant, was horrified.

“Where’s President Shinra, is he—“ was the first thing she said, words too quick out of her mouth, and Tseng shook his head. He was leaning against the railing, like he could hardly stay standing. 

“He’s not dead. But—” Tseng paused, swallowed. He closed his eyes. Elena knew that look.

He couldn’t bear to say any more. 

His voice was hoarse, raw, and tired. “Can you run over to the lodge for me and get more supplies?” Elena knew right away what he meant—bandages, and the weird condensation packs that had recently been developed, that could act as both pain relievers and keep the black gunk out of the bandages when applied to a Stigmatic’s skin. 

Carefully, Elena slid her legs out of bed, and bent over to pull her pants on. “Yeah. I’ll go right over.” Reno and Rude had both agreed to go on the next leg of search for a cure—they were in Cosmo Canyon, and nobody expected them back for at least another day. It was just her and Tseng and Rufus right now….whatever shape he was currently in.

Tseng sighed from the stairs and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. It let the light fall forward more, and it made his cheeks look more sunken, showed the darkness from his stubble, how glazed his eyes were.

“Thanks,” he managed, finally, and climbed the stairs back upward. He moved slow, like he was aching. Elena tried not to think about him getting older, on top of everything else. His footsteps retreated as she got her slacks on, shrugged on her suitcoat, and strapped her gun into the inner holster of the jacket. 

A trip to the main part of Healen lodge didn’t take long. There was someone always awake there, in case a patient got sicker, in case someone died. Her request was simple, and once she had the supplies, she hurried back, closing and locking the door again behind her.

The light from the hall and the bathroom spilled out into the main room, and she froze for a moment when she heard someone crying—not a sorrow cry, but the cry she’d heard what seemed like a thousand times, from her or any of the other three Turks.

It was a high-pitched, grating whine of pain. Sobbing, getting louder and rougher, until it petered off into hoarse screaming and the sound of thudding. It happened again, and louder, and then a third time, until it broke down into rough, hacking coughs and thick gasps for breath. 

It was Rufus, screaming. It was Rufus, crying brokenly in the bathroom. Elena stood, frozen, for what seemed an eternity until Rufus quieted down, quieted back down to harsh panting, and there was the sound of running water, splashing, and Tseng’s quiet voice that she’d had whispered in her ear innumerable times in the field— _breathe, Elena. Don’t think about it. I need you to relocate your arm. Breathe. Listen to my voice. Talk to me._

By the time she had managed to unroot her feet from where she had frozen, Rufus had gone entirely quiet again. 

She walked toward the bathroom, feeling leaden all over, and when she got to the door felt like someone had punched her hard in the stomach, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. The shower curtain was pulled back, and she could see everything. Rufus was laying splayed in the tub, his limbs haphazard like he couldn’t quite control where they were. There was black ooze _everywhere,_ coating him all over, dripping in long, slow, seeping lines from his chest, down his chin and neck from his mouth.

Tseng had his back to Elena, sitting perched on the edge of the tub. His arms up to the elbow were covered in the Geostigma gunk, staining his tan skin, and Rufus’ head was slumped in his lap. He kept stroking Rufus’ hair, neither of them seeming to care that it left more stains every time he did it. Rufus’ shoulders would shake every few breaths, with a withheld sob. 

“I got the stuff,” Elena said, when she could trust her voice, and Tseng nodded, mute, shifting slightly. Rufus made a quiet noise, but let him, and Tseng carefully leaned him back against the back of the tub.

Elena saw his eyes, for the first time in months. His left eye was stained completely black, surrounded by a mark that looked like someone had punched him hard there. It was dripping slowly, a line of bile sliding down his cheek, like some awful caricature of tears. His right eye was still the same bright, bright blue as it had always been, but now there was more of the greying stain of the Stigma, travelling up his neck toward his face. 

She looked away when she couldn’t handle it any longer, and by then, fortunately Tseng had stood up. “Put it down by the door,” he said, finally, and looked back toward Rufus, laying prone and boneless. “Help me pick him up.” 

Elena nodded, set the supplies down, took off her suitcoat and slacks, and together it took both of them to struggle Rufus upright, Elena helping while Tseng hauled him up from inside the bath, Rufus a complete deadweight in his arms. Standing, in only a pair of stained boxers, Elena could see how much weight he’d lost—before the Stigma, he’d been strong enough to shoot a shotgun one-handed. Now, she could count his ribs, could see the bones in his wrists and how shrunken his knuckles were. Even upright, his breaths were shallow and pained, his stomach hollow. He didn’t seem to know where he was, or what was going on, looking lost out into the distance, one good eye unfocused. But, when Tseng whispered to him to shift slightly, he would, and they eventually managed to get the shower on. 

Elena sprayed Rufus off with the showerhead, not caring about how soaked or disgusting her pyjama shorts and tank-top would be in the morning. Tseng would shift him, and she would wash him, and eventually the black bile would rinse off and go down the drain, leaving only the necrotic grey patches on his skin, until finally Rufus was soaking wet but clean, his skin only oozing very slowly. Together, they dried him off, Tseng still holding him upright, and then they bandaged him, stuck the ooze-packs on his skin, and finally, Tseng handed him over to her over the edge of the tub and Elena pulled him over until they could sit him on the toilet.

Rufus was so much lighter than she was expecting. She had carried him once or twice, early on in his attacks. He’d weighed enough to make her arms feel weak afterward then. Now, he couldn’t weigh more than she did. If even that.

Tseng rinsed himself off in the shower afterward, and then left her there next to Rufus while he went to go get clean clothes from the bedroom.

It was quiet, alone with him in the bathroom. Rufus’ breath was uneven and shallow, but in the quiet, eventually, he whispered,

“I’m sorry.” 

Elena paused, cleaning up the trash from his bandages, and looked at him. He was slumped against the wall next to the toilet, hardly able to focus his good eye on her, and she watched him. 

“For what, Sir?”

“For this.” He was hoarse from screaming, from vomiting. He closed his good eye. “For putting you all through this.” Elena felt her chest tighten, and she shook her head.

“President…Rufus, nobody’s mad at you.” He didn’t move, but she could tell he was still awake, tell he was still listening. “We’re worried, and scared, and exhausted. But nobody’s mad. You can’t help this any more than I can help being two inches shorter than you.” Rufus’ mouth twitched, just slightly. “We just want to see you get better. That’s all. I just miss having you well.” She paused, and then added, quieter— “Tseng most of all.” He hadn’t been the same, not since Rufus had started getting sicker. “We’ll find a way to heal you, sir.”

It was quiet, until Tseng’s footsteps started coming back, and finally, Rufus whispered—

“Thank you.” 

Two days later, they discovered that the remains of Jenova’s head were in the Northern Crater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not supposed to be nearly as long as it ended up being, but im happy it did. thanks to [rethira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rethira/pseuds/Rethira) for not-so-accidentally tossing me head-over-heels back into the fe7 fandom. whoops.


End file.
